Into the Scorpion's Den
by RandomPerson164
Summary: It has been nearly a week since the revelation of the Marseille Murderer. Our heroes have all gone home and stood by as the story leaked itself into newspapers across Belgium, Europe, and the world. Then a mysterious letter delivered to an old address leads them to America, and turns life as they know it upside-down...
1. Chapter 1: Lost and Found

**A/N: Hooray! I've finally made it to the third story in my Adventures of Tintin series. There might be a fourth, but you never know... As always, I'd love to hear feedback from you guys!  
PS: Everyone who has read the original, Legend of the Shadowwalker, please read the public service announcement on my profile page. It's right at the top, so you don't have to scroll down very far to find it. Thanks. :)**

The Adventures of Tintin: Into the Scorpion's Den

Chapter One – Lost and Found

She never knew how wealthy he really was until she saw the house.

The blond-haired girl skirted the hedges that lined the property, the heels of her shoes making a soft _click, click_ that echoed through the trees as she walked purposefully up the long driveway. She stole a glance up at the house – although it was barely a house; the word _mansion_ would've fit it more. It was a sight to see, even in the dim moonlight of a Belgian autumn night. Intricate stonework snaking up the walls, a beautiful coat of arms displayed proudly over the entry doors, a welcoming light on in every window. It didn't belong this far out into the country. And, to her mind, neither did she. It was strange for her to be out here, away from the bustle of inner-city Brussels. Everything was so quiet, and yet the sounds of dusk pierced the air: crickets and cicadas chirping in the grass, the wind rustling the red and gold leaves that still clung to the trees, and birds chirping a final goodnight to each other before returning to their nests. She instinctively glanced behind her. That's what the silent sounds of the countryside did to her. Everything was too quiet, and that brought along the sensation of being watched.

_Still,_ she commented to herself, hopping up the steps and giving the door a few knocks,_ it was nice of them to invite me to Marlinspike for the evening. It certainly sounds more fun than standing around having to listen to a bunch of scientists talk about this newly discovered mineral found on a shooting star or that chemical compound infecting all of the petrol in the Middle East. They had already read all about it in the newspapers, so why do they feel the need to discuss it even more? At least it isn't in Father's flat, like it was last time..._

...Oh dear, I've lost my train of thought. Where was I? Oh yes, the mansion in the country.

The girl stood patiently at the stoop, reaching into her coat pocket for a moment. Her fingertips met the smooth paper of a mailing envelope. A crisp breeze blew a fistful of air into her face, causing her to wrap her coat tighter around herself. That was the moment she heard a voice inside, two voices actually. One was proper and almost emotionless, while the other was harsh and rough, and obviously annoyed. The second voice yelled to the first; the first replied placidly, sounding as if it was several rooms away; the second voice spoke again. A pair of footsteps followed it, and the door suddenly opened in front of her.

The man who opened the door looked like your average butler – from the white suit jacket and matching tie to his calm demeanor and the empty tray he held under his arm.

"Good evening," the girl said with a slight smile, nodding politely. "My name is Baxter. I'm here to see Tintin."

She almost laughed when she saw the butler's face. His expression was one of surprise, bewilderment, and mortal terror all mixed up. _There must not be very many girls to see Tintin._ He calmed down after a moment though. "Of course," he said in a typical British accent, also suspiciously butlerish. "Master Tintin is upstairs at the moment, finishing an article. Master Haddock is in the sitting-room." He gestured inside, adjusting the tray under his arm.

"Thank you," she murmured, stepping past him and into the main cavern of Marlinspike Hall.

To the left of the grand staircase was the sitting room. Inside, she could see a man sitting on a comfortable-looking chair with a tobacco pipe in his hand. He wasn't very impressive at all: scraggly black hair and a beard to match, a deep blue sweater adorned with an embroidered anchor, a black jacket thrown over his shoulders, and an ever-present captain's cap covering his hair, the only visible symbol of his status. He didn't look anything like what the average mansion-owner did, that's for sure. Not that she knew any others. He appeared to be asleep, so she took a step away.

"Who is it, Nestor?" a voice called from above. She took a glance up at the descending figure. Dressed in a blue sweater and khakis, he would be recognized by nearly anyone in a heartbeat. But his nearly fiery ginger hair and that unmistakable quiff in the front sealed the deal. He glanced from the butler to the girl at the foot of the staircase and smiled. "Ellie! What brings you here?"

"My father is at some important meeting tonight," Ellie started, removing her coat and hanging it from the crook of her elbow, "so I thought I'd drop by, since you invited me a few days ago. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Of course not. I had just finished the article I'd been working on. I was actually thinking about taking a walk around the property. There are several walking trails through the forest, if you'd like to see any of them."

"No thank you. It's too dark to walk anyway."

Nestor approached them once again, his face blank except for the confused gaze that he looked at her with. "Would either of you like some tea?"

Tintin smiled. "Yes, thank you Nestor." The butler nodded once, the looked at Ellie.

"Oh, could you? That would be nice," Ellie replied, looking up at the high ceiling of the foyer. She barely noticed him leave. "So this is Marlinspike Hall?"

"It is," Tintin replied casually. "It is big, but once you get used to it, it seems a little smaller."

"I find that hard to believe," she said with a dry laugh and allowed Tintin to lead her to the sitting room. "Does Professor Calculus live here too?"

Tintin only looked the slightest bit surprised when she asked. "Yes, he does. Does your father know him?"

"They are somewhat acquainted," she replied as Nestor set a tea tray on the table in front of them. "They've worked together on a few projects… He seems to be a _little_ hard of hearing."

"There are some things you just can't fix," Tintin remarked, taking a sip of tea before continuing. "In fact, I think he's in his laboratory right now, working on one of his –"

They heard a loud _crash_ from down the corridor that echoed throughout the mansion, followed by a wisp of smoke that emanated from one of the doors.  
"_Blithering bombardiers!_" The Captain woke with a start, growling the words under his breath. He looked dazedly around the room, then at Ellie, wondering to himself if he was still dreaming. "Cuthbert?" He was answered with a single nod from Tintin, then muttered to himself. "I wish that flaming nincompoop would stop blowing up this house for just one day..."

"And who's say would you need?" Calculus asked without warning, appearing in the doorway. "It doesn't seem to be too large of a problem." He looked away from the Captain, his gaze resting fondly on Ellie. "Elizabeth Baxter! I didn't expect to see you here! How is your father?"

Tintin smiled amusedly at Ellie, and she only shrugged. "Hello Professor. My father's doing well, in fact. He's just gone to –"

"The flu? Oh, that's terrible. Be sure to give him my best regards. I'll have to visit him in a few days."

"Oh! I almost forgot," Ellie murmured to Tintin, digging into the pocket of her coat and pulling out an envelope. "This was delivered to Labrador Road the other day. I thought you'd need it."

"Labrador Road?" Tintin took the envelope from her, scanning the front carefully. "It has an American postmark. Maybe it's from someone I met in Chicago." He ripped the adhesive holding down the flap and pulled out a folded piece of paper, reading the letter out loud.

"_Dear Mr. Tintin, on behalf of the citizens of Chicago and of America, I request your presence for an important international investigation. You may already know of drug smugglers in your home Belgium, so you will understand our dilemma. We have recently received several anonymous tips about __smugglers bringing a rare and dangerous element into Chicago for use in specialty weaponry, probably thermonuclear. We have not forgotten your bravery in defeating the gang bosses of Chicago several years ago, and we believe that you would be the best choice for this case. Contact me if you __need airplane tickets. Sincerely, Clay Walker, Editor-in-Chief of the Chicago Tribune._"

"_We have not forgotten,_" the Captain scoffed, tapping the stem of his pope against his hand. "Mos Americans don't even remember your name."

"Captain, you don't have to go if you don't want to. But these people need help. I can't just stand by and watch it happen." He stood and stuffed the letter in his pocket.

"Laddie –"

"It'll be fine, Captain," Tintin interjected. "I have been to Chicago before, so I know my way around. And besides, another adventure is just what we need." He looked back to Ellie. "Do you want to come?"

Ellie grinned, looking back with an adventurous glint in her eyes. "Sure!"

The Captain shook his head. I don't need this, he warned himself. But he knew that, whether he liked it or not, he was being sucked into Tintin's world yet again.


	2. Chapter 2: Flight 715

Chapter Two – Flight 715

"Delta Air Lines announce the departure of their flight 715 to New York. All passengers to gate 2, please."

Brussels Airport was, to say the least, crowded. People seemed to be constantly bumping into other people, and then _many_ of those people would turn and start yelling at the people who had bumped into them. But as for the majority, they couldn't have cared less unless someone nicked their wallet. This was the sort of crowd that Tintin and the Captain had been sitting within for half an hour. The two were seated on a bench in the middle of one of the airport's terminals, waiting patiently – sort of – for their companion. Snowy peeked out from his place underneath the bench, eying the passing pedestrians in the off chance that any one them would have a bone and accidentally leave it somewhere within reach.

The Captain shook his head once, shifting around on the bench uncomfortably. "Why do we have to bring her, laddie?" he uttered irritably. "A woman on a ship is considered bad luck, y'know."

"It's a good thing we're not on a boat, then, isn't it?" Tintin stood, and the Captain sprang at the opportunity, stretching himself out across the bench. "Besides, she's _our_ friend. She can come to Chicago if she wants to."

"Fine," the Captain groaned after a moment of noise-infested silence. "You're supposed to be working, lad, so don't be getting too distracted..."

Of course, by then Tintin wasn't listening.

-x-

Somewhere within a crowd across the terminal, Ellie settled her bag back on her shoulder and took a glance down at her watch. 10:26 am. _I should have been here nearly half an hour ago._ Adjusting her bag slightly, she surveyed the inner terminal, trying to spot one head out of hundreds. They had decided on a rendezvous yesterday, just before she had left Marlinspike and gone home, but she couldn't seem to remember it at the moment, except for something about the east side of something. She shrugged to herself and followed her own vague directions for a minute or two. A man in a dark brown trench coat and flat cap brushed against her.

"Terribly sorry," he responded softly, tipping his cap to her in respect. He had a heavy Boston accent and looked like he hadn't eaten a square meal in days, maybe weeks.

Ellie half-smiled. "It's alright." She paused and watched him hurry off, then continued on her own wild goose chase.

"This is the last call for Delta Air Lines flight 715 to Chicago. All passengers go immediately to gate 2."

Just when Ellie was going to yell at the voice on the speakers to stop stating the obvious, she spotted something: just beyond one more line of people was a young man with ginger hair, the front end pointed up in the unmistakable mark of Tintin. He caught her eye and waved to her. She smiled and waved back, pushing through the wall of people and emerging beside the bench claimed for Tintin and company.

"Morning, Ellie," Tintin greeted her, reaching for his bag on the floor by his feet then looking back up at her.

Snowy, who had almost started pleasantly napping in his cozy spot under the bench. looked up at what all the commotion was about. _Hey, look! It's the shadow-girl!_ He barked once in salutation.

Ellie looked down at Snowy and smiled broadly, scratching between his ears. "G'morning to you too, boy," she said to him. Then she stood, replying back to Tintin: "I'm sorry I didn't get here earlier. I always loose track of time in the morning." She looked over his shoulder in confusion. "Er, is the Captain alright back there?"

Tintin turned around. Sure enough, the Captain had fallen asleep and lay snoring across the bench, his hat covering most of his face. "Captain, wake up!" Tintin said in exasperation, shaking his friend's shoulder. "We don't want to miss our flight!"

"All sails to port!" The Captain woke with a start, violently spitting out the words before he even realized what was going on. "What? Where am I?" He took a good hard look around. "Oh...right."

Ellie held back a laugh. She glanced at Tintin, her glance saying, _is he always like this?_

Tintin smiled back. _Yes, you should probably get used to it. _"We need to get to the plane. We wouldn't want it leaving without us!" He started walking off toward gate 2, Ellie at one side, Snowy trotting happily between them.

"Good idea," the captain murmured, grabbing his bag and following after the two teenagers, watching them carefully. I need to keep an eye on those two. Who knows what they could be getting into...?

As the four walked away and nearly disappeared into the crowd around gate 2, two men sat down at a table in a nearby restaurant. One was the Bostonian whom had run into Ellie just minutes ago; the other was Mexican, with caramel-colored skin and dark brown eyes. Both were wearing trench coats and flat caps, effectively hiding their hair and identities.

"Is that them?" the Mexican asked quietly, as to not be overheard by anyone else in the restaurant. He scratched his chin subconsciously and placed a small camera on the table: unremarkable, with a scratched lens and an inconspicuous clouded-silver color.

"That's them," the Bostonian confirmed, taking off his hat and tiredly running a hand through his thinning brown hair. He stood and replaced his cap, grabbing the camera and saying before he fled the restaurant: "Call the boss. Tell him the pigeons are coming, and they're bringing a dove with them."

-x-

"How did you first become a reporter?"

It was about an hour later, and the plane was well in the sky, flying with ease over the majority of the mid-Atlantic. Tintin and Ellie had found a pair of empty seats toward the back of the plane. The Captain had claimed a seat just behind them and fallen asleep the moment after they had taken off. Naturally.

Tintin, who had been reading a book about some sort of British teenage spy trying to save the world for the nth time, looked up and turned to his companion. "What did you ask?"

Ellie looked back at him, ignoring Snowy, who was napping in her lap. "How did you first become a reporter?" she repeated. "After all, you're much younger than any reporters that I've ever heard of."

Tintin smiled slightly, closing his book and setting it aside. "It's a long story..."

"We have time." Snowy stirred slightly in Ellie's lap, and she scratched him between the ears. "It can't be too bad."

Tintin considered this for a moment, then sighed inwardly. "Alright." He turned slightly in his chair so he faced her and told his story from beginning to end – from his running away to France, to his working and mentoring with a big-name reporter, to his moving back to Belgium and starting his work for Le Petit Vingtième. He didn't stop there; he also briefly told about his first two international assignments to Soviet Russia and the Congo, two assignments that are spoken about very little.

Ellie leaned back in her seat, listening to his stories in silent awe. "...You're lucky," she said, after a moment of silence. "I'd have to say it's a miracle you weren't killed a long time ago."

Tintin arched an eyebrow. "Well, what abut you?"

"What about me?"

"You...You had said something in Marseille, about someone stealing black clothes from you. What was that about?"

Then, just for a moment, Tintin saw her eyes change: they suddenly looked darker, their naturally emerald color turning barely a shade darker. They lost their excited glint and went cold with emotionlessness. Tintin had seen that look somewhere before, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it... She obviously wasn't going to answer, so he set his original question aside. "Have you been to New York before?"

But then whatever it was disappeared as quickly as it came, and in no time Ellie was back to her old chipper self. "I've been once or twice, with my father. It's a beautiful city." She then kept the conversation going and started on a wild tangent about the best food in New York, then London, then the rain in London, with Tintin supplementing each individual fact. After a while they both forgot what his original question was.

Behind them, the Captain shut his eyes. He had been barely aware of their conversation, but miraculously heard it anyway, and had smiled stupidly in the half-consciousness that had come after his nap. He remembered something about New York and tacos, but it was forgotten in a flash as he settled down again for Nap: Part Two.

**A/N: Yeah, I borrowed a few of 's ideas on Tintin's rise to being a reporter. I just have no idea myself and is good at making something out of nothing. I just couldn't put that in without giving a little credit there. If you didn't notice, good for you. If you did notice, good for you too. :)  
By the way, this will be the last update I put up until mid-November. I don't want to deprive my readers of an update for a whole month, and since I have the third chapter complete already, I won't have to write another one. Thank you all for willingly putting up with me! :)**


	3. Chapter 3: Board Meeting

Chapter Three – Board Meeting

The bright lights of the Chicago metropolis dotted the darkness of the dusk with tiny fake stars, replacing those otherwise seen outside of the busy city. Pedestrians walked alongside the streets of the Windy City, enjoying the night life and just having an all-around good time. Unbeknownst to them, there was a meeting taking place just ten feet away, in an unmarked building on West Kinzie – an old brick speakeasy adequately named, Untitled. Within the walls of the building, the room was divided into two groups. One group had the characteristics of your everyday, average thug: tattoos running up every arm, marked with words of defiance, and unkempt hair that could have been cut by safety scissors. The other side, however, were clean-shaven and dressed in suits and ties, the garb of a typical businessman. Two other men sat in the front of the room, both dressed in the businessman fashion, scanning a few papers that lay on top of the table in front of them.

"Alright, listen up," one of the men finally said, slamming the heel of his hand down on the table and waiting for the din of idle chatter to cease. His greasy black mustache wiggled slightly when he spoke. "Listen up," he repeated. "The Boss couldn't make it to our meeting tonight, so he left me in charge."

"Why you, Doc?" A young man, only in his twenties, shouted from the thug side of the room. He was dark-skinned and had always seemed to shout sourly. "Why not some other guy? Why not me?" he added with a shout slightly louder for emphasis.  
"Shut your face, Mikey, or I'll shut it for ya." The man called Doc readjusted his tie aggressively – if it was even possible – and continued. "Now, it has been brought to our attention that a reporter is coming to Chicago. Nothin' special, you're all thinkin'. Well, think again. His name is Tintin."

Somewhere within the businessman crown, one man chuckled, although there was absolutely no reason behind his doing so.

"You all may know him as the guy who busted the gangsters of Chicago years ago. We've got orders from the Boss to track him down and bring him to Springfield – _alive_." Doc glanced around the room for a moment, examining each individual before turning to his companion at the table. "The photos, Watson."

Watson pushed a button on a small remote that lay beside him on the table and turned around. A picture was being projected onto the wall behind him by a projector at the back of the room; it showed a busy airport, and a crowd of people in line to board an airplane. The photo was slightly warped by hair-thin scratches, presumably from the camera it was taken with. "We got these photos from our guy in Brussels. This," he said with a slight Canadian accent, pointing to one of the awaiting passengers, "is Tintin. Don't be fooled by his age – he may be just a teenager, but he's more dangerous with an ex-wife with a flamethrower."

Nearly everyone in the room laughed at this remark, except for one thug in the back, who sadly had an experience like this not too long ago.

Watson pushed the button again, and a new photo was displayed. This time, it showed three people and one dog walking away from an empty bench into a crowd at the same airport. The scratches were still visible. "These are his companions, the ones who are traveling with him. We have been able to identify this one..." He pointed to the tall black-haired man wearing the captain's hat, who appeared to be asleep on his feet. "...as one of Tintin's longtime friends, Captain Archibald Haddock. He's a rich guy with nothing better to do than follow this kid around. And a'course, the dog's Tintin's. What we don't know is who this is." He finally pointed to the blond-haired girl talking to Tintin in the photo. "She's obviously one of his little buddies, but she's pretty much pointless."

"...Probably a girlfriend," someone murmured, whose remark was followed by murmurs of agreement all across the room.

With this, Watson sat down again, and Doc took center stage once again. "They will be landing in JFK International Airport in New York in about two hours, assuming their schedule is right. One of you will get the address of the hotel they're staying in when they get to Chicago – I've already called the boys in NYC about that. Of course, they will be using _gentle persuasion_ to get that information." He smiled deviously, along with half of the others in the room. "One of you will collect them from their room in Chicago while they are all gathered together. The Boss only wants the kid alive, but bring the Captain guy too. He could get us some money for a ransom. Once you do that, take the kid to Springfield. The Boss'll take care of him from there. Questions? No? Good. We meet again here tomorrow, same time. Silver Scorpions, dismissed."

Only six people left when Doc said the word 'dismissed' – himself, Watson, and four other businessmen. The rest would be leaving at planned intervals for the next hour and a half, a protocol stated at their first meeting to ensure no suspicion from passersby. After all, if anyone saw a large group of men that looked anything like a thug or a businessman, the police would be on their way in a matter of minutes. And none of them would want that.

One of the last people to leave, a 20-year-old man nicknamed 'Jet' for his almost-black eyes, pressed the button on the projector once more and examined the photo once again. He scanned each of the faces, one by one, until he reached the girl's. It was strange, he thought – she sort of reminded him of a girlfriend he used to have before he dropped out of school. _I hope I'm not the one killing her,_ he thought to himself, before the projector shut off and the last wave of people filed out of the building. Jet left nothing except for the empty bottle of Scotch and his regrets.


	4. Chapter 4: The Big Apple

Chapter Four – The Big Apple

It was 5 o'clock in the evening. Eastern Standard Time.

At this time, the city of New York was starting to wind down a little in preparation for the oncoming night, although many lights would stay on all night – they don't call it 'The City That Never Sleeps' for nothing. Times Square was especially busy, with several groups of tourists and locals battling their way through traffic to return to their homes and hotels. Just a mile away, the crowds had diminished greatly, with only the sounds of a few taxis and quiet idle chatter disrupting the peace within the Casablanca Hotel.

It was an unattractive building on the outside: cream-colored walls, unimpressive windows with an air conditioning unit hanging out of nearly every one. But within the doors stood a beautiful Moroccan palace, complete with bright colors, flowering orchids, extravagant patterns, and a winding wooden staircase that gracefully spiraled up to each floor. The curtains of a third-floor suite were open, taking in the views that the city had to offer. Three figures sat around the main living space of the suite, two on the couch, and one in a desk chair pulled up to the coffee table. A small white dog – who probably wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, considering the hotel's no-pets policy – napped happily on one of the beds in the adjoining room.

"...The flight leaves at noon. Once it lands at Chicago O'Hare International, we'll check in to the hotel," Tintin was saying to his friends, scanning a sheet of paper that he had earlier laid on the table in front of him. "The Omni Chicago Hotel. We should be there long before 3 pm, assuming our plane leaves on time."

"Sounds good," the Captain murmured from his place next to Ellie on the couch, watching intently but only half-listening. Ellie rolled her eyes at him.

"You said that you've stayed in Chicago before?" Ellie turned the map slightly and scanned through the names of the buildings surrounding their hotel.

Tintin smirked. "Yes, once. It was years ago, and I came to Chicago to help get rid of the gangs that had plagued the city and struck terror into the hearts of every gangster." His voice got purposefully lower on the last part, as if he was mimicking the optimism of a news broadcaster.

"I think I've heard about that." Ellie chuckled with him. "Though I'm not quite sure of what happened."

It was a silent invitation for Tintin to talk about one of his many adventures, one that he didn't have to have explained. He began with the train, quickly moving on to the taxi ride gone wrong and the events that followed. Ellie listened closely, entranced by the nonfictional stories that were told, and wondered to herself how such amazing feats of bravery, strength, and heroism could be accomplished y such an average-looking teenager.

-x-

"Who's hungry?"

There was no real reason for the question. For the past hour they had all found themselves with growling stomachs and slightly annoyed temperaments, the Captain especially. The question was rhetorical, of course, but Snowy had a hard time trying to decide if it was really worth answering. He still had no idea, so he barked once in response.

Ellie had called the pointless question from her place at the wooden desk in the main living space, where she had been poring over a map of New York to remind herself of the city's features. After she asked she stood and draped her coat over her arm. "There's a sandwich shop around the block."

"Sandwiches?" The Captain had been reading a local newspaper and narrating it to a very annoyed and tired Snowy, but ignored it when he heard the words _hungry_ and _sandwiches_. "Good! Get me a BLT on wheat, hold the mustard. Oh, and extra pickles."

Ellie paused. She wasn't expecting an answer so quickly, but a moment later she laughed in hindsight. "Alright then. Tintin?"

"Roast beef, please," Tintin called from the other room. The way he spoke suggested that he was occupied with something, maybe the letter he had received from the Chicago Tribune. He had been looking at it at least once every hour, as if there was some secret message that he was trying to remove from it. Every time, Ellie had left him to...whatever it was that he was doing.

Another strange, random thought came into her mind: she had never seen Tintin eat beef.

Ignoring the weirdness that was coming out of her mind at that moment, she shook her head and pulled her arms through the sleeves of her coat. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder at her two male companions, who had quickly busied themselves once again. She opened the hotel room door. "I'm locking back the door. Let me back in when I knock." And then she left, slamming the door firmly behind her before sauntering through the hall, down the stairs, and out the hotel's main doors into the cold new York night.

A crisp autumn wind blew in Ellie's face the moment that she stepped onto the sidewalk, and she shivered slightly, drawing her coat closer around her in the front. Her cheeks grew a little pink from the chilly air, but she walked on. It surprised her, what few people were actually walking around at this busy time of night. She was sure that Times Square would be packed with locals and tourists alike, all patiently (or not so patiently) waiting their turn to cross one of the most famous intersections in the world. There were very few people here, but the ones that were there were in a hurry, toting suitcases or large purses along with them. Another strange thing: they were all headed in the same direction, toward Times Square, in the opposite direction that Ellie was walking.

_Stop worrying yourself. It's just people. It's not like they're gangsters or anything._

The city fell into an unnatural hush as she rounded the corner, the small sandwich shop in perfect view down the street. She walked purposefully toward it, reaching into her pocket for a moment to check that she had enough money to pay for the sandwiches with. She passed a couple of dark alleys as she walked. _Now, what were the orders again? Tintin wanted roast beef, the Captain wanted a BLT on wheat bread with no mustard and extra pickles, and I..._

Suddenly, something black and heavy covered her face and pulled her back into the nearest alley, muffling her yells and screams of defiance, holding back her limbs in a death grip. The constant babble of New York City that had returned only as she passed the alley quickly faded away behind her, and silently she wondered if she would ever see anything again.

**A/N: What will happen next? Stay tuned next week (probably) for the next thrilling installment of Into the Scorpion's Den!  
PS, this will definitely be my last update this month. Since I have been busy for all of November and will be especially so this last week of the month, my next post will probably be sometime during the first week of December. Thank you all for your patience.  
PPS: If you're reading this before reading _Legend of the Shadowwalker_ for the first time, go back and read it, you cheater. The rest pf these people read it already (I'm hoping), so it's just not fair for you, me, or any of my other readers.  
PPPS: Yes, one of the reason I'm doing this is to make my final chapter's word count that much larger. :)**


	5. Chapter 5: Gentle Persuasion

**A/N: I do not own The Adventures of Tintin. I also do not own the Casablanca Hotel. Nor do I own the Ford vehicle brand. I do own my OC's though. At least I get to keep something! :)  
By the way, the abbreviation "MtBl" stands for meatball, just so you all know that.**

Chapter Five – Gentle Persuasion

She was just starting to get used to the darkness when it was ripped away from her.

Ellie squinted against the bright industrial light that shone in her face from above, cloaking everything else that may have been... wherever she was... and hiding them from her sight. She felt something holding back her arms and felt the faint _thump, thump_ of a man's pulse against her wrists. Her heart raced with fear.

By then she could see again, so the quickly surveyed the room. It was nothing special, with its bland gray paint job and its dirty concrete flooring. It looked somewhat like an old warehouse, only smaller. A clean-cut man wearing a black pinstripe suit was standing in the corner away from her, his head bent so that his matching black fedora hid his face from view. All was silent; but after a moment of her sitting and him standing, he looked up at her. The brim of his hat cast an ominous shadow over his story gray eyes as bland as the color of the room surrounding them, and his lips were curled back in a devious scowl.

"Hello there, miss."

His voice, wrapped in an annoying Brooklynese accent, was like sandpaper to Ellie's ears. A disgusted, terrified shiver ran down her spine.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. The name's Mr. Taylor, at your service." As if he was truly trying to be polite, he tipped his hat to her, and for only a second she saw it. It was a silver tattoo of a scorpion, its stinger poised for attack, just above the man's hairline. It disappeared when he put the fedora down again.

"These are my assistants," Taylor continued, gesturing to somewhere above Ellie's head, "Bronco and Ford."

Two scowling faces suddenly appeared on either side of her, and she involuntarily flinched. One was dark-skinned with fresh scar slicing across his cheek. The other was Caucasian, with a set of intimidating metal studs piercing his nose and both ears. Both were wearing dirty white A-shirts, and both exhibited tattoos that spiraled around their arms and featured matching silver scorpions just below the shoulder. Ellie didn't want them to think that she was scared, so she casually asked, "So, which one is Ford?"

Before she could even get the last word out of her mouth, the dark-skinned one leaned forward and glare at her. She felt the hold on her wrists slacken ever so slightly. "Don't you be talkin' 'bout my name like that, or I'll –"

"Back away, Ford," Taylor demanded, and with another dirty scowl Ford stepped back, disappearing behind Ellie's chair. Taylor smirked at her. "You know what they say: Built Ford Tough." Ellie's wrists were pinched together harder behind her.

"Let me go!" she howled, struggling against Ford's grip failing miserably. The Caucasian man looked like he was about to slap her across the face, but Taylor held up a hand.

"Not yet, Bronco," Taylor drawled, turning back to meed Ellie's startled gaze. "Now miss..." He obviously expected a name, but he continued when one didn't come. "...you are here to answer a few of our questions. You will do it on your own will, and you will not lie."

Ellie spat. "I would never –"

Taylor snapped, and Bronco stepped forward, clasping his entire hand around her neck. His thumb pressed roughly against her windpipe.

Taylor leaned toward Ellie and pulled a small object out of his pocket: a voice recorder. He clicked a button on it. "First things first. What is your name, miss?"

Ellie narrowed her eyes and bit back a cry for help. "As if I would ever tell y –" Her sentence was cut short when her supply of air was cut off from her lungs. She choked, then fearfully whispered, "...Baxter. Ellie B – Baxter."

"Good!" Taylor smiled wickedly. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, are you traveling with a Belgian boy reporter named Tintin?"

Ellie didn't respond, but a few seconds of coughing breathlessly prompted an answer. "Y – yes." Bronco's hand released her, and she flooded her lungs with air.

"What hotel are you staying at?"

The hand squeezed her throat again, forcing her to release the air inside of her lungs. She could feel herself start to suffocate. "The... the Casablanca..." Another release, another breath of fresh air.

"I have only one more question for you, Miss Baxter, before I must be on my way." Taylor stared dramatically into the space just above Ellie's head before staring right into her scared eyes. "I already know your friends are flying to Chicago tomorrow, but I don't know which hotel they will be staying at while they're in the Windy City. Where are they staying?"

For the longest of moments, Ellie couldn't breathe, not just because of Bronco's suffocating hand. Is she told this man where her friends would be staying, there's no telling what he may do to them. She could just die here and save her friends while she still had some to protect...

She suddenly saw stars, and realized that she felt extremely lightheaded. She must have panicked, because she started spurting out the hotel's name before she could even stop herself. "O... Omn... Omni. I... It's... Om... ni..."

"The Omni Chicago." Taylor smiled slightly, amused.

"Swanky," murmured Ford from behind her. She was so dazed that his ultra-deep voice didn't even make her flinch.

Taylor turned around, his back to the prisoner. "Release her."

The pressure on Ellie's throat and arms released, and she slouched back in the chair, gulping down air. She shook slightly; it was obvious that she didn't have the strength to move an inch.

Taylor raised an eyebrow at her, slightly confused by her sudden lack of will. "What room number?"

"I... I don't know," she whispered between gasps.

"Too bad," Taylor remarked with a shake of the head. "You'll just have to help us find it then, Miss Baxter. Here's what you'll do. Hold a white cloth up to the window of the room at 11 sharp tomorrow night. And don't try to trick me – it's obvious that he would get a room with a window. I'll have people watching."

As the black spots started to dance away from her field of vision, she nodded once, blankly.

"Goodbye, Miss Baxter. Too bad we have other places to be."

Just as suddenly as she had been brought back to this place she was pushed out, chair and all, through a hidden door behind her. Her back hit the cold pavement of an alley, and she sat up, scanning the alleyway for the door, the room, any signs of life. There was nothing but piles of trash, two stray cats, and the ominous darkness.

-x-

"Ellie's been out for a while," Tintin murmured half to himself, looking away from his notes an back at his watch. "It's been nearly twenty minutes. You'd think she would have been back by now..."

"It's New York, lad," the Captain reassured him. "Everywhere is crowded. There was probably just a long line at the sandwich shop. No need to get antsy."

Tintin gazed out the window facing Theatre Row and nodded. "You're right, Captain. I just need to calm down. She'll be back any second now..."

Exactly one second later, there was a knock at the door.

Tintin jumped slightly at the sudden noise, but wasted no time in hurrying over and opening the door. He smiled when he saw Ellie standing there, holding a few paper-wrapped bundles in her arms. The collar of her coat was pulled up around her neck, and her cheeks were rosy from the outside chill.

"Sorry I took so long," she started, slipping past Tintin and settling the sandwiches on the table. "There... there was a long line at the shop."

The Captain shot Tintin a quick look, silently saying _I was right_ before standing and snatching up one of the sandwiches in the pile. "Which one's mine?"

"The one with the big **BLT** on it." Instead of taking off her coat, Ellie pulled it a little tighter and gently took hold of the paper package marked **MtBl** and cradled it in one arm. "I'm... I'm going to eat in the courtyard. I just need to... clear my head." She reached for the door again.

"Fine," the Captain mumbled, speaking around a mouthful of no-mustard extra-pickle wheat-bread BLT. He didn't look up from his sandwich, and didn't notice the shadow that passed over her normally jubilant eyes. Tintin saw it for just a second when she glanced at him, smiled softly, and stepped into the corridor once again. The door made a solid thunk behind her.

Tintin stared in the direction that she left, his mind buzzing, his hunger forgotten with Ellie's sudden change of character. What happened to her? Maybe she's just tired – she was standing in line at the sandwich shop for twenty minutes. Or maybe... He grabbed his coat from the end of his bed and took the remaining sandwich from the table. "I'll be back."

The Captain would have said something to stop him, to keep him from getting into any trouble for just once in his career as a reporter. _Don't worry about it,_ he would have said, along with a simple gesture to the spot beside him on the couch. _She's fine, just a little tired, that's all. It's been a long week for all of us, laddie._

But by then Tintin was already gone.

**A/N: For all of you reading LotS, I will try to have a new chapter for you guys by Wednesday the 12th. Life has been hectic for me lately, and I'm just now getting new chapters done. Thanks for being patient with me, guys. :)**


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